Archive of Our Own ^beta

Pleasure can be supported by an illusion; but happiness rests upon truth.

– Sébastien-Roch Nicolas De Chamfort

*

For 90's Kid, the worst thing about living with Mom isn't the drinking. It's not the horrible things she says, or the way she hammers on his door shouting at him, or the fact there's hardly ever food in the house, or even that time she stole his Squirrel Girl comics and burnt them in front of his eyes.

The worst thing is when she gives him hope.

It hasn't happened often in the past decade – maybe once or twice a year – but every single time, it hurts a little bit more.

It started four days ago. He'd been staying at Linkara's place for a couple of days so he could read the Squirrel Girl comics Linkara's been looking after for him since March and so he could have dinner for a few days in a row, but the Ninja Style Dancer came back from a tour and needed the spare room, so 90's Kid had to go back.

Another day in the coffee shop later, he dragged his feet back to the house to find Mom sitting in a chair in the kitchen. Sure, she was wearing a robe over ratty old pyjamas, her hair was a mess, and there were deep dark circles around her eyes that looked like bruises, but there were two plates of sandwiches on the table in front of her and a smile on her face.

And she was sober.

It was like a dream. Like a wish had come true.

But that was four days ago. Before August 9th. Before the anniversary.

Ten years. Ten years since Dad passed away and left them. Ten years since the Mom he'd known and loved had disappeared and been replaced by a stranger who drank all the time and couldn't decide if she loved him or hated him or simply didn't care.

He hoped the loving Mom had come back for good. But she was gone again when he woke up this morning, when he heard the front door slam, when she came back with a grocery bag straining under the weight of cheap wine bottles, when she locked the door and sat down in the living room and poured herself the first glass.

90's Kid shut himself in his room and fiddled with his comics, organising and re-organising his copies of Blüdgunn, sorting them numerically, then by the number of guns on the cover, then by the last name of the artist, then the writer, then numerically again. Then he put them back in their box, sat on the bed and stared at the posters on the wall, trying to ignore the cracks and the tape just like he tries to ignore the cracks in his family.

Mom stumbled in through the door before he could even react, wine bottle in hand, hair standing on end, face red and wet with tears. Her voice slurred when she spoke.

"Why couldn't it've been you?"

This had never happened before. He'd always barricaded the door when she was in this mood. He had to sidestep her and get out before things got ugly. He stood up slowly and started to edge his way towards the door as she shambled towards him like a Silent Hill monster.

"I said why couldn't it've been you, ya dumb little shit. Answer me."

"I don't know what you me–"

"Yeah ya do, Kyle. Why couldn't it've been you instead of him?"

"... what?"

He stopped dead, stared at her. She continued to advance, pointing at him with her empty hand.

"He was worth a million of you. You'da been no fuckin' loss. Why was it him instead of you?"

He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't think. She took a long slug from the wine bottle, finished the booze inside, then flung the empty at him like a molotov. It hit the wall a foot to his left, showering glass onto the carpet, and 90's Kid bolted for the bedroom door. Mom grabbed for him, missed, bellowed a wordless cry of anger and gave chase, staggering back and forth, bumping into the walls in the hall.

90's Kid threw himself against the front door. The lock popped out and he tumbled out into the street. Another bottle – this one full – followed him, shattering on the sidewalk beside him and soaking his feet with cheap wine.

Mom's voice floated after him as he ran.

"Bring him back an' let 'em take you! You're no fuckin' good for anyone! I wish it was you!"

He's been wandering the city since then. He sat in Starbucks for a while, but couldn't get settled. Everybody seemed to have somebody: friends, family, lovers, somebody. He was the only one sitting alone. The only one.

But now his feet are treading the familiar path to cousin Linkara's place. The Ninja Style Dancer may be in the spare room, but Linkara's got the futon and he'll understand why 90's Kid needs it. He has to.

The city seemed more beautiful when Mom was sober. The buildings seemed to smile down on him and everywhere the streets were full of happy people and the world was warm and safe. Now the buildings are grey and empty and lifeless and everywhere the streets are full of distant strangers and the world feels cold despite the summer heat.

He's in a deserted street about two blocks from Linkara's place when everything goes black for a few seconds. He stumbles, caught off guard, but then he can see perfectly well again and everything is back to normal except...

Except that there's something on the side of the building next to him. A big circular patch of the wall has turned the colour of blueberries and is glowing, not bright enough to hurt the eyes but enough to be noticeable despite the sunlight.

90's Kid has never seen one in real life, but he's read enough comics to know a trans-dimensional gate when he sees one.

He has to get a better look. He has to. This is the coolest thing he has ever seen in his life and only a complete idiot wouldn't want to examine it. And it's not like he's got anywhere to be, anyway.

He takes a few steps closer, approaching from the side just in case somebody huge and muscle-bound with big guns and a plethora of pouches comes barging through and knocks him flying. But nothing happens. Nobody comes in, nobody comes out.

When he gets to the wall, he stops and reaching out towards the gate to touch it. His hand slides right through and out of sight into somewhere else, somewhere where the wind is whipping across his fingertips and raindrops are spattering across his palm. On this side, the air is utterly still and the sky is clear and bright blue. Maybe he should get an umbrella before going through. He's not exactly dressed for the rain.

He tries to pull his hand back.

It won't come.

He pulls again, but nothing happens. The gate has almost clamped down on his wrist, gripping it so tight his fingers are starting to feel numb. He leans backwards, using all his bodyweight, but it just hurts and his arm doesn't move and he's trapped.

Can't go back. Can't stay here until somebody comes along and cuts his hand off to free him, no matter how metal that would be. But can he go forward?

90's Kid reaches out with his free hand and touches the blue surface of the gate. His fingertips slide through easily but when he tries to pull them back, they're as stuck as his other hand. So the only way to go is forward. That's one way for an inter-dimensional gate to make sure you went through it.

He holds out both hands in front of him to make sure he's not going to walk into a wall or something embarrassing like that the minute he comes out the other side. Then he walks through.

The wind hits him a slap in the face, throws him off balance, almost tears his baseball cap clean off, and the rain soaks him in what feels like half a second, spattering across his sunglasses. The stormy sky is so dark that he can hardly see a thing. For a moment, he considers taking the sunglasses off, but then the lightning flashes so bright that he can see perfectly for a few brief seconds and he decides he'd rather have them on because in the distance, stretching between the ground and the sky, he can see the funnel cloud.

Tornado.

He doesn't know where to go. The only people around are across the street, on the other side of a divided highway with hardly a single car on it. There are about a handful of strangers huddled inside a bus shelter, trying and failing to stay dry, apparently oblivious to the oncoming twister. A figure in a hooded yellow rain-coat is standing in front of them, but he can't hear a word they're saying because they're so far away and the weather's so loud, but he can make an educated guess that they're trying to persuade the idiots in the bus shelter to move.

The wind blows another strong gust and 90's Kid almost loses his balance again. The trees in the middle of the road bend under the force like they're bowing and there's a crack as a branch breaks off one tree and tangles up in the boughs of another. One more gust and it would be free and –

And it was going to hit the person in the rain-coat.

He darts forward into the street, the wind whipping at his shirt and trying to steal the breath from his mouth. The loose branch shifted and strained against the others holding it in place. Even if he shouts out now, they'll never move out of the way in time. He's only got one option.

He throws himself between the tree and the person in the rain-coat just as the wind tears the branch loose and throws it towards them. It comes flying straight for his head.

He closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, he has no idea where he is. He's lying on his back under some very high ceilings and the wind is roaring outside like an angry beast trying to break in and there's a girl in a yellow rain-coat leaning over him, a girl with reddish brown hair and strange black marks across her eyes and a relieved smile that showed slightly buck teeth.

She looked familiar, even if nothing else did.

"You're awake! That's a relief. You'd better stay lying down for now. You took quite a bump to the head."

"Uh... okay. Where am I? And where's everyone else?"

"The other civilians are all safe! And we're in the church. Can't be outside during a twister. Now let's make you comfortable."

She shrugs off her raincoat and rolls it up into a ball to tuck under his head. Underneath, she's wearing a grey skintight catsuit with what looks like a furry bathing suit, leg warmers and arm warmers over the top. And she has a big fluffy tail.

"Oh my God you're Squirrel Girl!"

He blurts out the words before he can stop himself and his face starts to feel hot with embarrassment almost immediately.

"That is, I, uh, I'm a really big fan and, uh, stuff, you know?"

Squirrel Girl giggles and kneels down beside him.

"It was really sweet that you saved me like that."

"Aw, you could-a dodged out of the way. You're amazing."

His face is burning. He's sure he's gone redder than a tomato. But it's Squirrel Girl and she's right there and this was all his dreams come true.

"It was still sweet."

"Oh, uh, you're welcome. It was no trouble."

"Still, I'd like to thank you properly."

She leans down over 90's Kid and he finds it's suddenly getting hard to breathe. He licks his lips. She tucks her hair behind her ears and smiles. She's getting closer, so close, and then her mouth is on his and she's kissing him and oh she tastes like hazelnuts...

*

Normally, Linkara would have woken 90's Kid up by now. His cousin is sprawled across the futon fast asleep, right where he wants to sit to eat his damn breakfast, but he can't find it in his heart to do it. He knows what August 9th means to him and his aunt and he reckons 90's Kid needs all the sleep he can get. Besides, it's Tuesday. He doesn't need to do any filming.

He glances up from his cousin's sleeping face as the Ninja Style Dancer walks in with a mug of coffee, although how he plans to drink it with a mask on, Linkara has no idea.

"Morning."

The Ninja nods to him in response and sits down in the lotus position on the floor. Linkara looks back to 90's Kid, whose face is twitching in his sleep. Dreaming, probably.

"What do you reckon he dreams about?"

The Ninja shrugs and pulls a bendy straw from thin air that he drops into his mug of coffee.

"Eh, he's probably dreaming about Blüdgunn and shooting people. Fancy some waffles?"